by Jerry Cole
“Ah,” Jack said, playing with her own glass. “Is it like Dad?”
“No,” Brent said immediately. “His parents—I’ve never met them, but it was a misunderstanding with Marc’s shit.”
Jack nodded, and Brent was glad he didn’t have to explain with her. Of all his sisters, she was the one that understood Marc’s PTSD the best, and Marc had admitted one night, curled up against Brent’s shoulder, she was the one he spoke to the most, who talked him through better ways to handle his anxiety.
“I think she’s gonna be a counselor when she graduates,” Brent admitted, though that was a while off yet.
“I hope it works out.”
“So, do I,” Brent said.
There wasn’t long to wait for them to arrive; just as Polly and Rachel were arguing over which music to throw on, the doorbell rang. Brandon was currently occupied with Amanda, and Brent was gonna throw an I told you so his way later, and he nodded to Marc when he made motions toward the door.
“I’ll be back,” Brent told Jack quietly, but she just waved him off. It wasn’t as if he was afraid Marc was going to have a panic attack or need to leave or anything, but Brent was still worried enough to stand in the hallway, leaning into the arm his mom wrapped around his waist.
Marc pulled the door open, and Brent could tell from the line of his shoulders he was tense. His hands were shaking, and it was all Brent could do to stand still and let everything play out.
“Dad,” Marc said, and fuck, Brent had only heard that tone in Marc’s voice once before, and that had been when he’d first slept with Brent. It was awed, stunned, and Brent felt his stomach lurch. “Maman.”
There were hands on Marc’s arms and then he was being tugged down. Brent had a flash of blond, curly hair before Marc was enveloped in someone’s arms, or as much as he could be when he was seven foot tall. There was a man standing in the hall, balding but slim, and he looked over Marc’s shoulder, his eyes shining.
When Marc was released, he stepped to the side and gave the man, Marc’s dad, Brent figured, a hug. Marc’s mom was a short woman, about Brent’s height, with a kind smile. Her eyes immediately scanned the crowd, and thankfully Brent’s mom was more put together than Brent, because she stepped forward, glass in one hand, other outstretched.
“Hello. My name’s Frances Strome.”
“Eloise Bergeron,” Eloise said, immediately smiling at the sight of Brent’s mom. “Pleased to meet you.”
Marc was hovering awkwardly, shutting the door quietly. Brent slipped past the parents, where Brent’s mom had brought Marc’s dad into the fold and put a hand on Marc’s arm. “You all right?”
“No,” Marc said, but he was smiling. His eyes darted to his parents. “I think I might be? I just, I need a minute.”
“Yeah,” Brent said, tugging Marc into a hug. Marc squeezed him tight, probably tighter than he might have any other time, and it was all Brent could do to hang on. “It’s gonna be all right.”
Marc didn’t say anything for a moment, breathing slowly through his nose while he tried to get back to himself.
“You’re not gonna panic,” Brent told him seriously, turning his face into Marc’s neck and kissing what skin he could reach. “You’re doing great.”
When they finally pulled back, Brent’s hands on Marc’s arms, Marc turned to his parents and froze. Brent followed his gaze, amused to see his mom and Marc’s parents staring at them, grinning like idiots.
“What?” He said, narrowing his eyes at his mom
“Nothing, sweetheart,” his mom said.
Marc was looking between Brent and his parents, and then seemed to decide. “I’m a fucking Marine,” he muttered, and grabbed Brent’s hand, tugging him forward. “Maman, Dad, this is Brent.”
Marc’s mom, Eloise, looked amused, and her eyes immediately swung toward Brent. “You wrote the blog.”
There was a heavy silence from behind her, one Brent could detect because he was looking for it, but he shrugged it off. “Yes, Ma’am. I’m glad it could help you.”
“It did more than that, son,” Marc’s dad said.
“Thank you,” Eloise said, stepping forward and cradling Brent’s face in his hands. It was a mom move, and Brent could see why she’d been so desperate to get Marc back in her life. He couldn’t imagine losing a child to war, let alone two. Marc might have been alive, but she had to have been dying every day he didn’t talk to her. “You gave me my son back.”
Brent shrugged easily, giving her an easy smile. “Marc did the heavy lifting. I was just there.”
Marc let out a dissatisfied noise, and it echoed onto his mother’s face.
“Brent, give yourself the credit,” Eloise said, raising her eyebrows. She looked so much like Marc that Brent’s chest constricted. Dropping her hands, Eloise folded them across her chest. “Behind every great man.”
“There’s a great woman?” Brent said, tongue-in-cheek.
“Christ,” Marc muttered, and rested a hand at the base of Brent’s spine. “If you wanna call yourself a great woman.”
Brent pouted, leaning into Marc, and giving him the best sad expression, he could muster. “Why are you so mean?”
Marc rolled his eyes, shoving Brent away, only to drag him back and plant a kiss on his lips. Brent was hyperaware of everyone standing around them, and knew Marc had to have been as well, and it made the moment even more overwhelming. He clutched at Marc’s arm, and when they parted, he couldn’t wipe the grin from his face.
“That was unexpected,” he said, letting Marc know it was fine with a squeeze of his arm.
“Yeah, well,” Marc said, his cheeks tinged red. He shrugged, staring back at everyone else, unrepentant.
The silence that fell was broken only by Brandon’s sigh, and then he poked his head around the doorway. “Are we moving the party into the hallway?”
It seemed to have been what they were waiting for, even if Brent couldn’t have said so before it happened. With a laugh, the parents in the hall immediately filtered back into the living room, leaving Marc and Brent alone for a moment.
“I’m proud of you,” Brent said, kissing Marc soundly on the mouth.
Marc just stared at him, eyes fond, and ducked down for another kiss, drawing this one out. They broke apart at a sarcastic wolf whistle, Polly and Rachel in the doorway, phones out. Brent flipped them the bird and was even prouder of Marc when he didn’t immediately freak out at the idea of having their picture taken by Brent’s sisters.
“All right,” Brent said, holding up his hand and waving them off. “Get out of here with that.”
“Thanks,” Marc said, ducking down to whisper in Brent’s ear. “Can’t wait for our date.”
Brent stared around the living room; his mom, his sisters, Brandon and Amanda. Now Marc’s parents too, all brought into the fold, and he couldn’t imagine how this could possibly get any better. Except, he thought, staring up at Marc’s happy smile.
That outside date would be the real test, and he couldn’t wait.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The restaurant was one of the quietest Brent could find. He wasn’t going to admit searching practically the entire length and breadth of Chicago, but that was essentially what he had done. So many reviews he had waded through, so much bullshit, but eventually found one that wasn’t too expensive, had good ratings, and was quiet enough it wouldn’t overwhelm Marc.
They had both been out all day, splitting their clients easily, with the dogs behaving for once. Brent couldn’t decide if the world was giving him a break or lulling him into a false sense of security. He decided to latch onto the former, because he didn’t want to think about anything going wrong.
Opening the door to his apartment, he let Juliette race into the apartment, still with her leash and harness attached. He rolled his eyes, hanging his jacket up and kicking off his shoes. There was enough time to shower and change before Marc would be by, both to drop off Stanley and to pick him up for dinner. Brent was gra
teful not to have to get the train anywhere, and he thought of the amount he could get away with while Marc was driving and not kill them both. When they had been dating, Brent occasionally rested a hand on Marc’s thigh, but that was as daring as he allowed himself.
Naked and washing off the stress of the day, he couldn’t help but turn his thoughts back to Marc. They hadn’t had sex since getting back together, and although Brent wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to initiate anything. Though they agreed to start again, Brent didn’t know if that included sex yet, or whether Marc wanted to go slow. It would come with time, he supposed, but until then, there was nothing to say he couldn’t get himself off in the shower while waiting.
He was still riding the same high when he came out of the shower, grinning like an idiot and cussing at himself when he realized Juliette was still in her harness. He crouched down to take it off, glad nobody else was in the apartment to see the towel half-hanging off his hips. Or sad Marc wasn’t around to see it, he thought with a grin, sure that Marc would like what he saw, even if he wasn’t ready to start anything.
“Daddy’s going crazy,” Brent told Juliette seriously, who was less than impressed to have been left in her harness the entire time. “Yeah, yeah, you can take it out on Brandon later.”
Brent let her run off, wherever it was she was going to sulk. His eyes darted to the clock, and he cursed. It wouldn’t be long before Marc turned up, and Brent wasn’t even dressed yet. Unlike his sisters, who probably took a million years to get ready for work, Brent was definitely quicker, shoving on a button-down shirt and a pair of jeans he had seen Marc checking his ass out in on more than one occasion.
When the knock at the door finally came, Brent still had to put on cologne and his shoes, so he yelled, “It’s open!”
There was the familiar tone of Marc’s voice and Juliette’s enthusiastic barking. It was answered with Stanley’s own high yip, and Brent was grateful to have all three in his life that he had to take a moment to get himself together. When he was finally done with dressing up, he stepped out into the living room, relishing Marc’s slack-jawed expression.
“Hey,” Brent said, leaning down for a kiss.
Marc was enthusiastic in return, hand on Brent’s ass and holding him in place. “We could always stay here.”
Brent hesitated, worried Marc was apprehensive about going out, but his eyes were dark, his tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip, and Brent couldn’t help but think maybe he would be getting lucky tonight after all. “Come on, idiot. We have a reservation to meet.”
Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Marc allowed himself to be tugged to his feet. He kept his hands on Brent’s hips, holding him close and staring down at his mouth.
Brent let out a soft noise. “As much as I would really like you to follow through with this,” he said, waving his hand to encompass them both. “I really, really want to eat dinner.”
“Believe it or not,” Marc managed, “so do I.”
Brent forced himself to step back, giving Marc a rueful smile. “Brandon will be here soon. And we don’t have to have dessert.”
“It’s the best part,” Marc protested, though Brent could see the hesitation in Marc’s expression.
Thankfully, Brandon arrived not too much later, glad to look after the dogs. Saskia was keen on both Juliette and Stanley, so there were no problems, though he looked surprised when Marc didn’t harness up Stanley. “You’re leaving him here?”
“I have Brent,” Marc said, tilting his jaw.
Brent shrugged easily. “I tried to tell him I don’t mind, but I’m not gonna get in the way if he wants to try.”
“It’s not like I’m getting rid of him,” Marc protested. “One night isn’t going stop me needing him.”
Brent tapped him on the ass, giving him a bright smile. “It’s fine, Marc. We’re just worrying.”
Marc rolled his eyes, though he looked thankful for it at least. “Well, you don’t have to.”
Juliette and Stanley seemed disinclined to let Marc and Brent out of the apartment, and it took Brandon holding them both back and Marc shutting the door in their faces to leave.
“Well, now I feel bad,” Marc said, making a face.
Brent laughed gently, slipping his hand into Marc’s and squeezing. “They’ll be fine.”
Marc stared at their hands, his cheeks pink, but he didn’t let go until they were out at the car, and even then, he looked reluctant to do so. Brent couldn’t help but grin, kissing Marc’s knuckles and dropping his hand, sliding around the hood of the car to get to the passenger side.
“You can hold my hand in the restaurant.”
There was a little walk before they got to the restaurant, so Marc smirked and slipped his hand into Brent’s, wiggling his eyebrows. Brent laughed, leaning heavily against Marc as they made their way down the sidewalk. Chicago in the evening wasn’t quiet, and though Brent kept darting looks at Marc, he didn’t seem overly affected by the amount of people. Perhaps, Brent thought absentmindedly, Marc really had come a long way since they started dating. Not that he attributed everything to himself. He hadn’t been lying when he put it all on Marc, because Marc was the one doing all the work, but he had not a little pride at the fact there was barely a twitch from Marc.
“You all right?” He asked, when he couldn’t stand the silence any more.
Marc frowned, looking surprised, before his expression cleared. His smile was fond. “I wouldn’t have come out tonight if I didn’t think I could handle it.”
“You probably would have bought Stanley as well, huh?”
“Brent,” Marc said, stopping him just outside of the restaurant, one hand on his chest. “I’m not afraid of going outside without Stanley.”
“Doesn’t stop me worrying,” Brent said.
“I know.” Marc’s smile was soft and affectionate. “Come on, let’s go eat.”
Just as Brent hoped, the restaurant was mostly quiet. It was Greek food, a nice little hole in the wall that had candlelight and no alcohol.
“Bring your own beer?” Marc said.
“Well,” Brent said with a shrug. “I figured we could do whatever drinking we needed to at home.”
Marc laughed, mouth quirking up at the corner. “I don’t think we’ll be drinking much at all.”
The heat pooled in Brent’s stomach at that statement alone, and he barely managed to slide into his seat and take the menu he was offered. The waitress had a kind smile, and though Brent was polite enough, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Marc. When the waitress had taken their drinks order, Brent let some of the heat express itself on his face.
“Is that a promise?”
Marc snorted, and though he tried to act nonchalant, Brent could see the heat in his eyes. It sent a shiver down Brent’s spine and he leaned across the table, taking Marc’s hand in his.
“I’m glad you came out,” Brent said.
“So am I.” Marc answered Brent’s grin with one of his own.
They were interrupted by the drinks arriving, and though they tried to pick up the threads of it, it seemed a little safer to turn their conversation to innocent topics until they were done with the food. There were only a few other couples in the restaurant, but Brent still found himself holding Marc’s hand, trailing his leg up Marc’s calf, and leaning across the table to plant a kiss on his lips.
The waitress offered them the dessert menu, and despite Marc’s interest, and teasing they could always have two and drag it out, Brent hooked an ankle around Marc’s leg and raised his eyebrows.
“We have dessert at home.”
Marc’s eyes darkened, his tongue running slowly across his bottom lip before he flashed a smile at the waitress. “I think we’ll take the bill.”
Brent didn’t want to have to wait through the bill, the tip, waiting for their card to go through, desperate to be back in the car and driving, come hell and high water, back to their apartment.
“We should go back to mine,”
Marc said, signing the check with a flourish, and flashing the waitress a bright smile. “Brandon will still be at yours.”
“Where he would hear you fucking me,” Brent said, dipping his voice on the cuss. Thankfully, Marc covered it with a well-timed laugh, immediately tucking Brent under his arm as they left the restaurant. Brent leaned into him, warm in his jacket, but even warmer when Marc planted a kiss on the top of his head.
Marc sighed and thankfully didn’t try and refute the point. They couldn’t get away from the fact Brandon would know what they were doing anyway; when Marc followed Brent back into his apartment, he would no doubt grin at them and wave them off with a knowing smirk.
“He’s gonna be insufferable,” Marc said, slowing their pace a little.
As eager as Brent was to have Marc fuck him, or even just get Marc’s hand on his dick, the small relationship things that had always seemed so far away from him were just as important. The holding hands, having Marc’s arm around him, hearing the smile in Marc’s voice when he spoke into the shell of Brent’s ear, the kiss pressed below his ear.
When they finally arrived at the parking lot, Brent was reluctant to tear himself away. He leaned against Marc’s chest, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of Marc’s jeans and pushed up on his toes for a kiss. Marc was enthusiastic in response, working a thigh between Marc’s legs. Marc let out a soft noise, hips rolling gently against the meat of Brent’s thigh. He smirked into Marc’s mouth, hands on the back of his head.
“Yeah, we should go home,” he managed to get out, arching into the hand Marc slipped up the back of his jacket, under his shirt. Marc’s hands were cold, sending a chill up Brent’s spine, and when he opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, he opened his mouth. Marc pressed a finger to his lips.
In silence, they climbed into the car, Brent being as brave as he had wanted to be in the shower, and leaned across the console, sliding his hand up Marc’s thigh. They were Brent’s favorite thighs in the world, large enough for Brent to dig his fingers into Marc’s jeans, sliding up slowly, the back of his hand brushing against Marc’s dick.